The SandCastle
by Nusaka
Summary: A well known assassin and a pregnant bakery worker, and what may lie between them. GaaraxHinata
1. Meet Gaara

**T**he **S**and**C**astle

Summary: A well known assassin and a pregnant bakery worker, and what may lie between them. GaaraxHinata

A/N: I'll be writing in a notebook, and I'll only be on the computer at all during weekends or maybe holidays, so expect slow updates…

Meet Gaara

:x

Well polished black boots made clacking noises on the tiled floor. People in the laundry room turned their heads subtly and discreetly to look over at a strange young man. He wore cotton pants, slightly baggy for comfort and a tight black shirt. He was balancing a small basket of dirty clothing on his hip while he waited for a washer to become available. He ignored the looks he got, because if he glared they'd just pretend to look away and cast untrusting gazes beneath their lashes.

He scratched the back of his neck where dried blood had crusted beneath his bright red hair. He hadn't had the time to wash it off so now it was beginning to itch. The necklace he wore jingled a bit from his movement. The gold ankh clicked against the metal loop that attached it to the thick leather chord on his neck.

An old woman who smelled of cats and Pine Sol waddled to a washer and tugged out her clothes, casting him a dirty look before scurrying over to an open dryer.

Gaara stepped up and dumped his clothes into the washer. He looked over at a dispenser. Boxes of Tide, Arm & Hammer and Cheer powder detergent, Downy softener napkins…

He dug in his pocket for more quarters. One, two, and a box of Tide tumbled out of the slot. One, two, and a packet of Downy softener followed. Gaara took the two boxes and leaned over his machine, popping in three quarters before dumping all of the Tide in. The water pump rumbled and he closed the lid, set the dials on small load and cotton clothing.

He pocketed the Downy.

Gaara looked behind him where the feeling of many eyes was coming from. Their heads were turned innocently, but he knew better. In his left pocket, his cell phone vibrated excitedly.

Digging it out, he flipped it open to speak in it, walking out of the laundry room with the eyes of everyone following him silently. "What?" his greeting was usual – short and curt.

"Always to the point, eh Gaara?" it was a slimy, slippery voice that made Gaara feel as though a giant snake was speaking to him.

"What is it?"

A dry and vaguely amused chuckle came in from the other end. "There's something I'd like you to take care of."

An image of more bloodied clothes, wide frightened eyes and a sleek black favorite with a silencer went through Gaara's mind. He could still smell gunpowder on his fingertips. "Do you want it, Gaara?"

The redhead plucked a scrap of white lint from his black shirt. "What do you need done?"

**TSC**

The kill was neat, quick and without much sniveling. The prostitute had borrowed too much money from the wrong man (Orochimaru in case point) for her next meth fix. She'd died with a blank look on her face. Hollow – it was something whores and good killers had in common. Something was always missing, hollowed out of them and not other people.

They had the same look. Bags under their eyes, shallow cheeks and sallow complexions, but they had these in common for entirely different reasons.

Gaara turned the steering wheel of his car, catching sight of the blood splatter on his knuckles. The old blood on the back of his neck was itching and Gaara felt agitation creep up on him. He needed a shower. He needed a scotch. He needed some food; that thought came to him when he passed a fast food restaurant that was closing down.

He also needed sleep, but you can't get everything you want.

Meet Gaara. Professional assassin with nothing to lose. Calm, cold and logic based in his decisions, he was a suave killer – whether or not that was a complement. He was basically the perfect hit man – couldn't bribe him with sex or drugs or money to keep him killing his target. Whether it was up close and face to face or a sniper shot, he did his job and did it damn well.

He also caught maybe two or three hours of sleep a night if he was lucky. He couldn't cook a lot, he barely ate in fact. He drank too much; scotch, whiskey, rum, sake, beer – anything with a taint of alcohol was fair game. He had no friends. He had no life suitable for someone. He did however, have his career.

Gaara cracked his neck and thought of scalding water, a fresh shirt and boxers. Refreshing and a beer to go with the cleanliness, that and some useless form of television entertainment.

He pulled the car along the side of his apartment building at two in the morning. He felt tired. He always felt tired, sometimes even exhausted but he could never sleep. His body would sag into the mattress, but his eyes wouldn't droop. His mind stayed awake unwillingly.

The car purred as he shut it off, pulling his keys from the ignition. He grabbed his small black duffel bag from the passenger seat – guns, ammunition, knives, vials of poison – everything and anything in it making it heavy and bulge oddly.

The building was silent, except for a young couple on the second floor of which he could hear them fucking not so quietly. The walls were thin and this place, while not a rat's nest was not the best money could buy. With his money, he could buy some fancy condo – but keeping low and quiet was something assassins did.

If they were smart.

Celebrities who didn't want the paparazzi all over their ass hid in disguises and kept low and hidden well. Assassins who didn't want propositions from the wrong people, didn't want to accidentally piss off the wrong people in the future and get caught hid and kept low too. Gaara was one of those few.

He momentarily thought about shooting the couple since their noise was annoying and even if he couldn't sleep, he'd like it a bit quiet. He shrugged off the spur of savagery of shooting the copulating duo and walked up the stairs, going up to the sixth floor.

He yawned when his door opened after jingling his key as it got stuck occasionally.

The backpack was tossed on his small wooden dining table. Gaara went straight to the fridge to look inside. A half full jar of mayonnaise, maraschino cherries, a jar of pickles, a twelve pack case of Budweiser and week old pizza.

Gaara scratched the dried blood on the back of his neck. He grunted. Beer and couch lazing would have to wait. _Shower first. _

He wandered down the hall and dropped his clothes on his bathroom floor, forgetting to grab a towel.

Meet Gaara; your friendly neighborhood professional assassin.

-

All of my stories except for maybe Stillbirth on are hiatus. XD This idea was running through my head, but I couldn't get it out. Thank **lady manticore** for forcing it out of me; she's a wonderful, mellow muse that also spell checked for me…and allowed me to steal part of her own story's title. XD Love ya babe!

Shameless pimping: **Burning Castles** – a wonderful story, interesting beginning and not insta-love!

Oh! Here's an exciting spoiler no would've been able to guess! You meet Hinata in the next chapter

:D Review if you like it, or didn't, whatever. Have a nice day ya'll.


	2. Meet Hinata

**T**he **S**and**C**astle

A/N - Another short introduction, next chapter should be a bit longer than these two and maybe something interesting will happen. Any **guesses** who the father is?

Meet Hinata

D:

A young woman stood amidst the hot room full of baking and her sweat. Her hair was tied into a bun on her head though stubborn strands fell into her face. The white apron she wore was stained with multicolored frosting and batter. Her pale skin was dusted with flour, making her appear paler than normal.

Hinata rolled her knuckles over the bread's dough. The scent was sour from the yeast in the bread.

A bead of sweat rolled down from her temple to the line of her jaw. Kneading was like a lower form of sculpting with soft clay. Dig in with knuckles, roll, flip respectively and then repeat process exactly as followed.

She could hear customers in the front. Shizune was speaking, rather yelling out prices, available cakes, pastries and pies types and when they would have more, or taking orders. A myriad of voices along with Shizune's sounded like an angry and hungry mob. It was the day where everything was twenty-five percent off.

A pink head of hair popped out from a side door of Hinata's work area. Hinata lifted her eyes to look at Sakura distractedly, mentally keeping track of her kneading count. The pretty young woman looked frazzled and just as sweaty as Hinata was at the moment.

"Hinata, when are those pies gonna finish? We have an hour to deliver and set them up!" her green eyed coworker said hurriedly. Her eyes darted to the oven where she could smell baking wafting from it, before she unconsciously wiped her forearm across her forehead to rid herself of a bit of her sweat.

The pies, Hinata remembered. Three apple pies with extra cinnamon, one cherry pie and three blueberry and cream cheese pies, special ordered; all of which had to be delivered for a birthday party of upper class.

They'd ordered the pies last minute, during a rush as well and the pies still had another fifteen minutes to go in their ovens before they could be pulled to cool for at least ten minutes. If they were pulled too soon or cooled too less, the crust would become doughy and the innards soupy.

"Ah…twenty-five more minutes." Hinata made an estimate in her head, at least that long for the pies to be good enough to eat, at least.

Sakura made a loud frustrated noise in the back of her throat. Hinata continued to knead the dough even as she flinched unconsciously from Sakura's little snarl. Sakura shut the door loudly, muttering to herself about customers and cursing them aloud.

Hinata blinked away a bead of sweat that had run its course to try to invade her eye. She rolled her knuckles firmly one last time but the dough was beginning to stick a bit. She dusted her hands lightly with flour so it wouldn't stick, and listened to the mob of voices rising and falling in tempo in the bakery.

She heaved a great sigh.

_You have to knead the dough without stopping, firmly and well or the bread won't rise properly._ The timer at her side rung and she reached out beside her to snag a greased loaf molded pan. The dough was placed inside neatly, spread just so.

It went into the oven just as she pulled out the pies, fifteen minutes later.

She began mixing and folding more dough and batter, respectively of course. _My arms are tired and it's only two in the afternoon. What pregnancy will do to you is almost ridiculous._

Despite her arms hurting and the sweat that covered her, she smiled privately.

**TSC**

Hinata shivered while she waited at the bus stop. It was seven at night and quite cold, what with her wearing only a flimsy little sweater.

She was sitting on the bench, next to an exhausted young office man with a gold band over his ring finger and a woman in her forties who wore too much makeup and had too many stress lines on her face, without any sort of ring anywhere on her.

Hinata heard the wheeze of a bus coming and she craned her neck to look. The faded yellow headlights stared back at her like magnified cat eyes. The pale blue bus pulled to a creaky stop, the brakes protesting loudly.

The woman was already boarding a moment after the doors slid open hesitantly, and the young man staggered to his feet, forcing himself to move; anguished. Hinata rose to her feet gracefully despite the slight bump showing.

Meet Hinata. A young pregnant woman who worked at one of the more successful bakeries in the city limits. She was modest and rather conservative. She worked hard every day, getting overtime when she could to save up when her and the baby's time came. She lived alone in the city far from family and in an apartment which had her own indoor garden on the little balcony.

She was, however, lonely and terribly timid. She drank a lot of chocolate milk and ate many cinnamon buns. To anyone who knew her however, the mere idea of her being pregnant without being married was irony embodied. Also to anyone who knew her here they didn't know who it was precisely who had 'knocked her up' or 'put a bun in her oven' or…_ran off_ perhaps.

The bus she stepped into smelled of old food and piss, which made Hinata extremely nauseous especially after coming from her bakery of sweets.

She wrinkled her nose and dropped her coins in the slot before taking a seat near front that had less questionable stains.

She needed to buy groceries, she remembered vaguely as she leaned her forehead against the gold glass of the window to watch the neon signs and streetlights fly past.

She needed to get milk and tea, flour and tomato sauce. She needed fish too, because all she had left was a smaller portion of a pork loin slab. Vegetables would be nice too...some varieties fruits...bread and a bag of white rice.

Hinata sighed quietly and threaded her fingers together in her lap. Her eyes slid closed.

There was a lot to do and she was so tired. She could get groceries later she supposed, and could just buy a bowl of donburi from a stand or some takoyaki.

All over, her entire body was sore and tense from work. Her arms were so sore. Her shoulders too, and so were her feet from standing up almost all day. She needed a nice long bath soak...and some warm milk to take the edge off.

Hinata opened her eyes. She wished she knew a cheap masseur, and had aspirin available for the headache she could feel creeping up on her from behind her eyes.

But, as with life, you can't make all your wishes come true.

Meet Hinata, a soon-to-be young and single working mother.

-

:D Yay! 2nd chapter (other intro) complete! Next chapter will be exciting, full of drama and action and smutty romance! …And pie.

Actually, none of that's true…except for the pie bit.

Review if you liked it or not, tell me why and I hope I'm doing okay with characterizations.


	3. I'm feelin' fine

**T**he **S**and**C**astle

A/N – Won't be updating next week, or for a while probably.

Feelin' fine, karma and an orphan

The room may have been dark, but a blue hypnotic glow was within the living room. A young man in his twenties was sitting on his couch, slouching while he drank another beer. He was barely watching it, but he listened to his own thoughts half-heartedly and continued to tip his can back.

It was almost dawn and Gaara hadn't slept at all. It had been worse, this night and he couldn't imagine why other than an overactive mind. All night, his fingers had tingled and his mind tossed and turned without blinking for a rest.

Orochimaru had called him again and gave him another job yesterday. Get rid of a man who had stolen about a kilo of cocaine and sold it to a Cuban gang. The slimy and sly man hadn't told him that the man had a family.

When Gaara had unlocked the door and stepped in, there was a woman washing dishes in the kitchen and a little girl of maybe five in front of the T.V watching a kiddy show. The man was on the couch behind the little girl.

These factors had shocked Gaara momentarily but the sound of a dish breaking broke him out of it. His gun was out and pointing straight at the source of the broken plate. The safety went off, "Take the girl." His eyes stared at the child who was now crying in front of him, though he spoke to the mother of said child.

The shaking mother and wife walked past him and picked up her child, cradling her and shushing her. "Go in the kitchen and cover her ears. Stay in there and don't come out until I tell you to." The gun followed the back of the mother and he waited for a beat before turning his grey green gaze to the paralyzed man sitting on the couch.

"P-Please, oh god, oh god don't kill me," he twisted further into the couch as though he could sink into the fabric.

Gaara stared. "Sara, no Sara!" in his peripheral vision he saw the child run out of the kitchen, heading for her father.

The gun went off. Sara stopped and stared in a daze at the bloody man before her. The bullet had pierced through her father's head and out the back almost silently. Red liquid that made her think of cherry jell-o before it cooled splattered the couch and wall.

Young though she was; she knew by instinct that it wasn't cherry jell-o and that her father wasn't breathing anymore.

Gaara's ears perked at the sound of buttons and then, "P-Police, he's dead he's dead thi"-

Another muffled shot and the woman's body dropped to the ground.

The little girl was screaming then and ran over to her mother, shaking her body and pulling at her clothes. The only word she repeated was _mommy_.

Gaara stared at the little girl and pointed his gun at her head.

"_I love you, you love me, we're a great big family. With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you, won't you say you love me too?" _

Gaara crushed the can in his hand.

The cell phone at his side rung and he picked it up. "What?" even to him, his voice sounded rougher and coarser.

"Gaara? It's Shikamaru."

The redhead had recognized the lazy and exhausted voice. "What is it?" he toyed with the crumpled ring of the beer can.

"Mm, just checking up like Temari told me to."

Gaara was quiet for a moment. "How is she?"

"Bitchy and angry at me as usual"-

"Not my sister. The girl I…" _orphaned?_ He thought but decided on another way to phrase it, "Brought to you."

"Ah. She's asleep. She wouldn't say a word to me. I think she hates you though."

"She'd be stupid not to."

Shikamaru was quiet. "So what now? We can't turn her into the authorities and I can't keep her, and you obviously can't."

Gaara leaned his neck back and stared blankly at the ceiling that was getting lighter. "I checked and she has family near her. I'll get a therapist and make sure her parents' will is set with a lawyer."

"Temari's worried about you." Shikamaru let it hang in the air because no matter what Gaara said, he was his sister's brother.

The redhead was quiet for a beat. "Tell her not to be."

The men then became silent as the dead for a minute, maybe two or ten because space collapsed. "I found you a new apartment."

"Where is it?"

Shikamaru seemed to ignore the question. "It's nice, I checked it out. Big apartments, no nosy neighbors and it's quiet. So I reserved a room for you under Haijin Gaara."

"Haijin?"

"The landlord is an old woman, but apparently she's a big deal in the town so as long as you pay your rent on time you'll be fine."

"Nara."

"Hm?"

"Where is it?"

**TSC**

Shikamaru had completely fooled Gaara until the last minute. Of course, there were the small hints but he hadn't realized it until the genius told him. Of course it would be closer to Temari.

Of course it would be closer to his sister; the violent mother hen.

Gaara climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor with three duffel bags; two full of personal items and the remainder with…his office supplies. When he had turned his notice and key in to his landlord, the pudgy man gave him a glance under his lashes as if to say, **who** did you do? As if accusing him of something. Accusing him of what? Of course these people gossiped, and spread rumors of the strange natural redhead.

_He never slept because of his job. : What does he do: I dunno but it's probably real shady work. _

They had no idea who he was or what he was like, so they had to make their own personality profiles for him.

Gaara stuck the key in the keyhole and turned to enter a spacious apartment. It was light colored and there was even a separate step for shoes so he wouldn't have to buy a cheap shoe rack.

Unfortunately, the floors were carpet and wood. No tile, which would make it harder to scrub any blood off the floor if he brought any in. He walked into the living room – nice and wide with a loveseat in it as a bonus. The kitchen had a roomy space and had a refrigerator, but it wasn't like he was going to actually use the kitchen much so it made no difference.

The bathroom was tiled and steep with an old bathtub complete with claws and a stool in the corner, above those was the shower head with a different set of knobs.

The bedroom was large and had a closet.

The apartment was large enough for Gaara not to feel an itch but not so much that it would seem suspicious and attract attention. Except that it was closer to Temari which meant visits.

Gaara threw the duffel bags on the floor and noted that he needed to buy a futon.

He walked back into the living area and saw he left the door open and a young girl was standing there, his age maybe. Blonde hair, baby blue eyes and tan skin.

"You new here?" she asked, nearly waltzing in if Gaara hadn't begun to tower over her purposefully. "My name's Mimi, nice to meet ya." She leaned in a little closer so he would smell the number one most arousing perfume.

The redhead said nothing. "Anyway, my roommate and I, we're on the second floor…so come by anytime you fell like it, okay?"

Gaara shut the door in her face, annoyed and feeling sadistic. He just wanted to be left alone.

He didn't bother looking in the fridge. He needed beer and food. And a futon.

There was quite a bit to be done and not enough contemplating how to evade his sister or kill Shikamaru.

The door locked soundly behind him.

**TSC**

The man, fat and sickly had died pissing himself on his lazy-boy recliner in front of the television set on a porno. Gaara had been faced with a normal everyday lonely and completely out-of-shape, unattractive office man. Unfortunately he'd come in the part of the porno where the man had begun to whack off.

He had died in the middle of it, and Gaara had gotten an eyeful that was not only pain but excruciatingly gross.

One shot in the head and that was that. Gaara had come into the building with tissue paper wrapping over his shoes, with a surgical mask over his face and in a solid black jogging suit, a cap had been placed over his red hair.

The redhead noticed something, however. He needed more ammunition and he needed to get a new knife sharpener since his wasn't doing its job anymore.

Gaara had later gone out shopping after he changed out of the jogging suit in a bus station bathroom folded it neatly and placed it in a plastic bag before shoving it in the trunk of his car. He called after doing the job to check with his client, to make sure that he would pick his money up tomorrow.

Shopping was next.

First had come buying a television; a nice forty-two incher from Sony©. A large and thick futon from a small shop called Dragon Mama's with enough room for two – not as though there would be anyone else besides him in it – and a puffed up pillow.

Then to a convenience store to buy paper plates, cheap wooden chopsticks, napkins, dish soap, shampoo, conditioner and body wash with a squidgy.

Grocery shopping hadn't nearly gone as well, however. He'd forgotten to make a list and there were only a few of the more important things to his diet that he would remember.

His grocery shop had consisted of; one twelve pack of Budweiser, a bag of rice, eggs, soy sauce and wasabi.

Driving his car, he looked behind him at his groceries during a red light. _Hn…I guess I still need to work on this shopping thing_. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him from going hungry or lax.

He pulled into the Drive-Thru of a McDonalds and could smell the grease cooking. The food there was practically compounding of a pint of grease, lard and salt thrown on top to make it taste better.

He could probably sustain himself on beer and a bag of flour if he put his mind to it though, so he really couldn't complain.

What he ordered was two hamburgers and a large coke. He always had hated fries so he didn't order any, and he also hates the generic fake cheese in hamburgers, but will eat them anyway. He's used to doing things he hates.

While he drove, he peeled back the yellow paper from the hamburger and dug in.

Streetlights, neon signs to strip joints and bars and nightclubs, other cars and pedestrians are blurs to him. He stopped when he had to at red lights and he kept a close eye on the cop car not far behind him. He does an experimental turn and the law vehicle passes; doesn't follow him. Gaara continued to drive straight home, right behind a pale blue bus that looked like it would fall to pieces any minute now.

His thoughts wandered and he with them.

Biting into his hamburger, he tasted blood and he looked at his hand. Small red rivers that were drying on his skin were visible to his naked eye.

He had shot the obese man far too close to avoid the spray of blood. Gaara grunted at the stains on his hands. He was getting messier.

His forehead pulsed and he felt a headache like a hammer nailing a nine inch nail into a thin plank. He stopped eating his first hamburger half way and rewrapped it. The bus stopped in front of his at the bus stop and people boarded.

Gaara followed suit and stopped his car easily. He leaned forward to put his forehead on the leather steering wheel. The headache went to the back of his eyes and he felt it behind his ears and pound mercilessly at his temples.

His headaches had been more and more frequent, no matter how much medicine or what sort he took. He heard the bus wheeze in front of him and he looked to the road again. The colors and lights of the night life hurt his eyes and made him squint.

His cell phone vibrated on the seat beside him. He kept his eyes on the road while he opened his cell phone and answered gruffly, "What?"

A loud and worrisome voice answered, "What the hell sort of greeting is that?!"

Gaara winced and held the phone away from his ear while she continued to rant about impolite, ungrateful little brothers. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah," his throat felt dry and he'd run out of coke.

Temari made a frustrated noise in her throat. "I hear you're living a little closer to your big sister now?"

"Not by much."

"Liar," she accused haughtily. "I've already got your address. I'll pay you a visit you tomorrow afternoon, alright?"

Gaara sighed audibly. "Is that necessary?"

"Well, now it is."

The redhead made a left turn, the bus still in front of him and clunking along at an ease pace. "Did you do your grocery shopping?"

Gaara thought of his bought items. "Not really."

"God you're hopeless without your sister, did you know that?"

Gaara didn't reply to that, but he knew his sister already knew the answer to her rather rhetorical question.

"I'll come by tomorrow and we can have some lunch." Temari was quiet for a moment. "How are you doing Gaara?"

A normal person's answer to a concerned sister's question: "Well sis I haven't been sleeping much, I'm not eating like I'm supposed to and I'm drinking too much, I've got more headaches than usual, and I…I…orphaned a little girl, how do you think I feel?!"

Gaara's answer: "Fine."

"Gaara, are you sure?" her voice strained a little.

The redhead looked to the road and remembered a dead father and mother, and a crying orphaned little girl.

"Yeah."

**TSC**

When he arrived at the apartment complex, and after he parked his car securely, he leaned his forehead against the leather again, but kept his eyes open. His headache had worsened. Gaara mildly wondered if his brother's firm belief in karma was true.

He heaved a small sigh and heaved himself out of his car, grabbing his uneaten dinner, empty cup and small duffel bag. He threw his trash in the trashcan on the side of the stairs of the building.

He opened the door and took the elevator this time. He slumped against the wall behind him and felt tired. So, so exhausted.

The doors opened with a ding. Gaara walked out, holding his keys in one hand and duffel bag in the other.

He walked down the hall and saw a young woman struggling with her bag of groceries. No surprise while she tried balancing the paper bag on her hip and open her door with the other hand that also had a bag.

She successfully opened her door, but a can of tomato sauce rolled out and to Gaara's feet. He picked it up and walked towards the small woman who looked up at him with large eyes that reminded him a rabbit he once saw at a pet store, but with white irises. "Here," he outstretched his arm to her.

Her fingers touched his knuckles accidentally when grabbing the can of tomato sauce from him hurriedly. She blinked and looked at her pale fingers, seeing blood. She withheld a gasp. She looked up and saw that he wasn't in front of her any more, but had already opened his apartment door, two doors down from hers.

"Ah, thank"- the door slammed shut. "You."

Gaara locked the doors behind him and looked down at his knuckles. The blood was still drying and parts were still slick.

He needed a shower. He needed a beer. He needed to bring up all his groceries and futon.

The headache slammed another nail into his brain. Gaara set his duffel bag down and went to the medicine cabinet, searching for something. His black rimmed eyes narrowed. "Damn it." Nothing.

He heaved a sigh and chucked his clothes off of his person. He turned the knob for hot water. He didn't bother with the cold water.

After it filled the old Western styled tub, he climbed in and sunk in until only his eyes and part of his red hair was above the water.

The job's blood slinked off of him in streams of a pinkish food coloring look-alike.

And so, within that cold and unfeeling apartment, the night wore on with a headache, even after he carried everything up and set his futon in his bedroom.

After doing so, Gaara realized he'd forgotten to buy sheets but didn't care much and only lay down anyway, hair still wet and now cold. He stared at the ceiling in hopes of boring himself to sleep.

His eyes didn't close that night either.

-

Ah…there was no pie. Next time, however, there shall be pie and thanking and lunch with big sister! Note that the next chapter's POV is from Gaara's as well.

A few people are asking if the father is Gaara – no. Another few people are asking another question, how far along is Hinata – you shall find out in a bit, I promise. And also how old are Gaara and Hinata exactly – early twenties, about hm…twenty-four, twenty three.

Review if you liked it or didn't or whatever, criticism is accepted and needed. Have a nice day ya'll. :D


	4. God given speed

**T**he **S**and**C**astle

A/N – An update! But…this will be the last update in about…a month…or three…depends how my classes go.

And by the by…ya'll won't find out who the father is…for a very long time. XD

God given speed, lights out and pie

Gaara hadn't slept, so he had stayed up with a headache that went to the beat of his steady pulse. This headache was a tumor he blamed on karma, and it worsened come morning. He pressed the heel of his hand to his right temple, where it throbbed the most and wandered into the kitchen.

He needed sleep and medication and some soothing tea to rid himself of his ailment, but he didn't have any of those. He needed to wake up and eat, which required coffee, which he had none of either.

Gaara stared at his empty counter for a long minute, contemplating on the fact that he'd forgotten to pick up the most useful thing to him besides his .45 or his favorite Harpy blade. It was the closest Gaara came to actual shock and disappointment – obsessive compulsive staring and long moments of silence.

This just made his fucking day, didn't it now?

Gaara wiped a hand over his face and rested it in his palm, breathing heavily. The headache pounded worse than ever, but strangely, there were no sounds of ambulances blaring past, sirens or yelling or heavy traffic. Gaara only heard morning birds chirping away on a tree that grew next to the buildings.

If he closed his eyes and strained his hearing a little, he could the breeze whisper past.

The headache seemed put in the back of his mind while Gaara reveled over his newfound epiphany.

He couldn't remember a time or place where it had been this quiet, except the streets after a shootout. His hand fell to his side, and he looked up at his ceiling without opening his eyes. The quiet before the storm, the calm before the fire, he'd heard it all but this had a different definition that didn't belong in any sense of violence.

This was what people from the country or small towns talked about.

Some sort of calming natural serenity that city people didn't have, a balm-like sensation that made breathing easier and where time just took a rest stop. Gaara waited, stood there in his kitchen, in front of his coffee-less countertop, and breathed in the air that came from a crack in the window.

It wasn't thick. It didn't smell like a power plant, or the heady scent of too many people or car exhaust.

It smelled like he imagined fresh water streams smelled like, without adding the piss and excrement that animals contributed.

The headache ebbed away and Gaara let his shoulders droop a little.

A pounding at the door made his temples throb and his eyes snap open.

"_Gaara! Gaara! Wittle baby brover…open the goddamn door for your sister_!" Temari's voice carried through his door like a bulldozer.

Suddenly Gaara's morning wasn't as tranquil as he'd first imagined.

**TSC**

His sister was a raving maniac on the road, swerving and passing, cussing and waving around the bird to drivers and pedestrians alike. Gaara did nothing from his side of the car, instead looking out the window while Temari drummed her fingers to a singer from the U.K. His blonde sister, with her catty dark green eyes had been a surrogate mother for him while their own mother had run to god knows where.

His father hadn't had time for any of them though he planned their lives out for them. He remembered him as a tall man who skulked in the shadows and ruled other politicians with an iron fist. He had arranged for foreign guerillas to kidnap normal citizens, businessmen and other politicians to create a sort of chaos that issued out terror like candy.

No one knew who was going to be taken.

His father had later been found out, tried and had gotten off with only a fine, and a national apology as well as a withdrawal from his office. When several industries collapsed and counterfeit money had been added to the equation, his father had suddenly vanished from the country.

Temari had been left to pick up the pieces.

When she was supposed to marry a man an ambassador's younger brother who owned a chain of electronics that were advancing quickly in the world, she became an infamous fashion designer; a true King Kong of the fashion world. Kankurou, who was supposed to run in office as well became a chef and ran his own chain of restaurants.

Gaara…he was a whole other story himself.

"_We interrupt this station for an important broadcast, due to trips at the power plants, there is a very likely chance of power outage. So please have a flashlight, a lantern or candles handy nearby. On further note to those who ride the _Only Express Way_ buses, drivers are currently on_" - Temari turned the radio off.

"'Kay, we're here." Temari pulled into a parallel park and got out of the car, her hair tied up in their standard quad pigtails, designer dark brown pants with prints of medium purple flowers at the hems.

Gaara stepped out and stared at the elaborate sign. "We already have reservations, besides Kankurou missed his _wittle brover_. After we eat, we'll go shopping because god knows you can't shop for crap."

The redhead walked beside his sister, the sunlight hot on his skin and the city air thick, this place was noisy. The doors, tall French doors with wide panels of glass were opened by a man in a white collar. "Madame, Hanajime-san has reserved your table in the back, near the garden."

Temari nodded and walked past the man while he kept his head bowed respectfully. Gaara followed his sister, past the people in their dresses that cost an arm and a leg, people who whispered at them behind their hands.

The garden was a spacious area but had only one table. Hanging jasmine vines and moonflowers crawled along the walls, herbs in pots grew; rosemary, basil and cilantro – the ground was made of cobblestones and had a little pathway to the lonesome table.

Temari sauntered her way to it, placing her purse on the ground before she stared at Gaara. Her little brother always stared at the garden.

She waited, while he stood as still as David, before time seemed to move again.

He sat across her and folded his hands together. "What do you want to talk about?" Gaara could never comprehend the art of beating around the bush to make the blow easier.

Temari fiddled with the violets in the slim vase of water, plucking at the petals. "What makes you think I called you out here to just talk about something?"

"Is it about the girl?"

Temari's hands stilled. "You don't have to do this for a living you know."

Gaara looked away. "It's a little late for regret."

Temari sucked on her lower lip. "It's never late for redemption."

Her brother stared at her, with those large bags under his eyes, those glass eyes that reflected only the world around him. "How is she?"

"Hypnosis…works surprisingly well." Temari paused. "Why did you kill her mother?"

Gaara didn't look away, but he didn't answer either. "I don't know."

Temari's hand slammed on the table and the vase trembled. "You don't know? _You don't_ fucking _know_? Was it some sort of passing whimsy? Huh?"

"She was calling the police. I reacted." He put it so simply, sounding cold while he felt so hollow.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Temari rested her forehead on her palm, cradling it. "Why Gaara? Why?"

Gaara didn't answer and watched his sister's strong shoulders sag. He didn't hear any sniffles or heavy breathing. She was holding her breath, so she could let it out in a big whoosh as if she tossed her troubles and stress along with it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gaara saw a slave in a white collar stroll down the cobble pathway.

"Today's supposed to be our day, so let's just deal with it another time." She raised her head, "I think I'm gonna go for Blanquette de veau, and a glass of mineral water," she spoke to the waiter who bowed to her.

"Very good Madame, and you sir?" the waiter looked to Gaara.

Gaara paused to look at the menus on the table, "The Coq au vin and a Schlenkerla Rauchbier." The waiter bowed and took their menus before disappearing from their line of vision.

Silence reigned between the siblings. "Gaara, do you still think about looking for her?" Temari glanced at him.

Gaara looked at the white table cloth. "Sometimes."

"Why'd you stop so suddenly, didn't you nearly find her when you went to Belfast?" Temari went back to plucking at the violets with her manicured nails.

"The feeling of being unwanted."

Temari momentarily stopped plucking at the violets before she ripped a whole head off the flower, cutting it from its stem with a nail. "Yeah…yeah."

The atmosphere didn't lift until two dishes came, carried by the waiter and shortly after him arrived their brother.

Kankurou came without his apron or chef's hat, instead only dark slacks, shoes and a shirt he'd gotten at a rodeo. With dark brown hair as messy as his brother's, eyes as green as his sister's, they looked especially related when Temari took her shoe off to chuck it at him and yelled at him for being so goddamn late.

Kankurou placed the plate he held in his hand down, a stew and sat on the third chair.

He grinned and showed off his white teeth. "Did you see the write up we got?"

Temari nodded, "Mm, for it to make the Tokyo Tattler is a big thing isn't it? Oh yeah…and what's this about an engagement?!" she snarled and reached across the table to yank on her brother's hair.

"Ow, ow, damn it Temari wait, ow, it's not official, ow!" he tried to pry his sister's tough fingers from him to no avail.

Gaara was already eating when they brought his drink, watching his older siblings fight and bark at each other.

"Just because it's not official doesn't mean you can hide it from us! We're not the boogiemen or something feather-brain!"

Kankurou finally got his hair from her grasp before muttering, "You sure look like one you friggin' Gorgon."

"What?!"

Kankurou stuck his tongue out at Temari and flicked her arm. "Anyway Gaara, Temari told me you moved out of the big city. How is it?"

Between a bite of chicken he replied, "Nice, quiet – small town and people mind their own business."

Kankurou nodded, "I was thinking of buying a house up in Sapporo, or Fukuoka."

Temari adjusted the collar of her silk white blouse, smoothing out the shoulders. "I was thinking of buying a condo near Sapporo too."

Gaara listened to them talk, and watched their food get cold while they caught up and talked. He took a gulp of his Rauchbier.

"So Gaara tell me what you've been up to lately. Haven't heard a word from you in a while." Kankurou turned his attention to his little brother.

Gaara looked into the dark beer. "Not much at all. I went to Florence for a while, traveling job."

Kankurou tipped his head, "So how was it? Any pictures?"

Gaara shook his head. "The sky was the same. I took pictures of The _Duomo, Campanile, Ponte Vecchio_ and the Church of_ Santa Felicita_ for you."

"Where are they?"

"They're being developed."

Kankurou gave a long, sweet bliss sigh, "Are some of them at sunset?"

"Yeah," Gaara replied.

"The _Duomo_ is the best at sunset."

Temari snorted behind her hand. "You're such a fruit Kankurou."

"Shut up!" Kankurou threw a balled-up napkin at her. "I only appreciate the beauty of France because of it ranks number one in the cuisine world, Medusa."

"What'd you say you prat?!"

Gaara watched his siblings argue over the lip of his glass of Rauchbier.

**TSC**

Like everything else in life, there are those who believe in fate, who believe in destiny or some say that these things are normal occurring, everyday non-miracles called coincidences.

There are also occurrences that are just wrong place, wrong time.

Hinata Hyuuga had been walking from her place of employment the moment a black Nissan Skyline Sedan pulled up to the bakery.

Hinata saw a man in black grungy clothes step out before she continued on her way, holding her dark blue sweater with a shivering snowman closer to her. Her hands went immediately around her middle while she walked in the cold brisk night.

The day had been long and hard. Getting closer to a colder time of the year, people were buying up their supplies of ground coffee, tea and hot chocolate, and the recommended wines they carried for their desserts.

Hinata could still smell gingerbread and white chocolate shavings on her fingertips.

She smiled a little to herself. Four months…another five months to go and she'd be so busy. She wondered what the baby would look like. Would she pull characteristics from her father more or from her? Whose genes would show up the most?

The rows of flickering streetlamps on both sides of the street went out in a sputter.

Something cold gripped her stomach and she walked a little faster. The bus wouldn't be coming today – the drivers had gone on another strike earlier and no buses were running anywhere. She'd have to walk home until the company settled the matter with their employees.

A shiver of warning crept down her spine and reached her cranium.

Fear like this wasn't common.

Her elbow was captured by a strong hand that pulled her against a dark building where lights were off. Something cold pressed against her throat.

"You keep your fucking mouth shut and you might live through this, understand bitch?"

Hinata froze and whimpered when he rummaged for her purse and took her wallet. His fingers passed over her chest and immediately went under her dress.

She went into hot-cold sensitivity when his hand groped her belly. A primitive mothering instinct kicked in; a comparable situation with an ewe – it becomes a fatal battering force when the lamb is in danger.

Her hands moved and fingernails clawed at her eyes, smacking his hand away from her throat and she ran. She almost screamed before she was pulled back with such force her shoulder almost dislocated.

"You fucking whore!" he slapped her across her face. His fingers wrapped into her hair and dragged her to the ground. He began to pull in the direction of an alley which Hinata deduced she would be raped then killed.

She screamed.

He turned on her with his knife and Hinata could only twist away futilely.

A crack resounded and her head dropped to the cement. Hinata blinked up at the dark sky when it began to rain and all she could hear was the wet _smack_ sounds of flesh against flesh and the hard _tok_ of bone hitting cement.

The rain was freezing.

The sounds stopped suddenly and a crunch of shoes against small bits of broken cement pieces from wear of cars came.

Hinata didn't look; only lay there on her back with her hands instinctively over her stomach.

The devil looked down at her.

Actually, it was her neighbor who picked up her can of tomato sauce for her yesterday – that odd head of red hair and grey-green eyes.

He didn't say anything but bent to grip her upper arm and drag her to her feet. He dusted debris off her and threw his jacket over her head before walking up the street. He glanced back at her expectantly.

Hinata looked up at the dim streetlamp to see her building the next building next to the one she was assaulted by.

The lights had gone back on a few seconds ago apparently.

She followed him at hurried pace, watching his back and his red hair plaster to his skin. It looked almost like blood in the bad lighting.

He opened the door to the building and ushered her in first. "Get the landlord to call the police. Just go to your room." He said, and went to take the stairs. Hinata grabbed his hand and he reacted by glaring at her when he turned.

She gulped. "Um th"-

"Good god Miss! What happened?!" the landlord came over, towel in her arms and she took the jacket off Hinata's head, immediately drying her hair.

"I was…uh, mugged."

"Oh my god!"

Hinata felt the man's hand leave her. She turned abruptly, to find him completely gone and vanishing up the stairs.

"I'll go call the police."

Hinata was left alone with a towel that smelled like Downy and rain, and a jacket that wasn't hers.

**TSC**

After Temari had dropped him off after they'd gone shopping for his necessities, Gaara thought about their earlier conversation at the restaurant.

"_Was it some sort of passing whimsy?!" _

No, it hadn't been. Gaara had shot her through her head and killed a mother in front of her child because of what his past clients referred to commonly as the god given speed. As if it was something divine and talented. His reaction time was 0.11 seconds, just scraping the impossible.

He reacted violently – _bang_! A thud, crying, a child's face crumbling.

Gaara didn't believe in redemption like his sister did, he knew who and what he was. Redemption was for people who still had a chance, for people who couldn't face their own consequences.

Gaara crushed the beer can in his hand and grabbed his black jacket off its hook.

The door slammed shut behind him.

When Gaara reached the outside, it was brisk and cold and there was so much quiet. He looked up and suddenly everything went dark – a full on power outage. The radio hadn't lied.

"_You fucking whore!" _

A violent scream – silence.

Gaara reacted when the barest pitch of the scream came and was already running towards the source. He heard heavy breathing and slammed his weight into the figure, he went down heavily and the redhead, having violence in the blood already slammed his fist into the guy's face.

He felt something stick in his shoulder but he yanked it out and tossed it aside. He groped for the guy's hair and held him up a little, straddling him; he hit his cheekbone, nose, eye and even his chin.

The man under him went still – unconscious.

Gaara breathed in and out and the streetlamps flicked back to life. Gaara registered that it was raining suddenly and blinked over at a feminine body.

He walked over the still figure. Was she alive? She was staring vacantly up with white eyes. Gaara blinked down at her mildly. The rain made her sweater and dress cling to her. The redhead looked down her body, checking for blood or injury but stopped at her stomach.

It bulged with something he knew wasn't fat. His nostrils flared as though he could smell it on her. He reached down and gripped her upper arm to pull her up. Seeing her shiver, he shrugged his jacket off and threw it over her head.

He began walking from her and when she didn't follow he stopped. She followed quickly and when they were inside with the lights on now he spoke to her, "Get the landlord to call the police. Then just go to your room."

She grabbed his wrist and he turned, "Um th"-

The landlord was already all over her, worrying and drying her hair. Gaara pulled his wrist from her and went up the stairs not looking back.

While he walked up the stairs, he thought back to it. Saving her, and checking to see if she was dead to discover…that bulge that lingered naturally beneath her clothes. He wasn't even sure why he'd reacted to the scream. Maybe his body recognized the lack of good karma and sought to rectify the situation.

What woman was stupid enough to walk home alone at night anyway?

He got back to his flat and shut the door. Gaara kicked his shoes off at the tile and went to his kitchen.

He leaned against his kitchen counter to stare at the door of his refrigerator. His god given speed reaction caused him to save a soon to be mother. He opened the fridge and got a beer, popped it open and drank half of it.

Gaara rubbed the back of his neck with his left shoulder, felt it resist a little and looked at it. Blood caked his shoulder. He took another gulp of beer and wandered into the bathroom to retrieve gauze and hydrogen peroxide.

In front of the television on the channel Animal Planet, Gaara treated his wound and wrapped while drinking two beers. It had a special tonight, but he hadn't been listening to what the special was on.

"_Female wolverines weigh only approximately 30 pounds, but have been known to attack not only larger animals, but have gone as far as defending their kits against full grown black bears…_"

When you have insomnia, you're never really awake either!; this was where you lost track of time and space. The redhead barely knew that about two and a half hours had passed. He was still watching the Animal Planet.

Gaara stared at the television with his beer in his hand.

A series of knocks on his door made him turn and reach under the couch cushion to grope at his Harpy.

The knocking continued.

Gaara rose and went to the door before he flung it open to discover…absolutely no one in the hall.

He stared blankly. His insomnia had driven him to hearing things. He smelled something below him – sweet and fruity.

He looked down into the face of a gold crusted pie, steaming with the top layer of dough spelling out THANK YOU, and his jacket, folded and ironed next to it.

-

! – based on a quote from _Fight Club_

**passerby** **who wrote: **_blood usually flecks on Gaara, making him standout, shouldn't the police be after him?_

Ideally yes, however the blood flecks are small, tiny and the police aren't as vigilant as they may seem – and people don't call the police at the drop of a dime, you see.

Anywho…pie:D I personally don't like pie. I like cupcakes. D: Until next time then folks, have a nice day ya'll!


	5. No Good Samaritan

**T**he **S**and**C**astle

I LIVE!

Okay…well listen up kiddies, I know you all like romance and fluffy lovey dovey moments, however you have to remember. Gaara is a hit man – as in he kills people for a living and Hinata is a soon to be mother. That doesn't mean that there won't be moments, but there is very slow and barely noticeable character buildup. People don't change overnight, okies? :D

And FYI, sorry for any confusion, but in the last chapter I used 'tumor' loosely, as in I used it out of context to help it be exaggerated, or use it as an elaborate slang – sorry for any confusion. D:

And ff(net) has screwed up my fancy spaces/time/place/people differences…again. Agh!

No Good Samaritans, awkward phase one and coffee

* * *

It was the first time Gaara had ever had cherry pie. It was sweet and sticky and very, very red. Unfortunately, despite the good intentions behind it all, Gaara was not one for sweets. However – it was food, it was hot and he was hungry.

Eating it, the gooey red contents were still hot and left burns on the roof of his mouth and the inside of his cheeks. Some of the added syrup was still on his lips and smeared over his left cheek but he wasn't hungry anymore and his stomach wasn't complaining. Sitting back, he stared down at the empty pie dish that had specks of thick red here and there but none of the actual filling, cherries and pie crust remained.

The woman he'd saved from a potential rape had brought his jacket over and it smelled like cleaner and had still been warm from her ironing it. The woman had folding it so as not to crease it. She'd made a pie for him. She was being friendly.

To Gaara, this was a lot to take in and he crushed the foil pie tin and threw it in the garbage, the plastic spoon following it before he stumbled to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, he wiped the traces of the pie away and stared at himself. He looked older than he should have – dark bags beneath his eyes and frown lines around his mouth. Contrary to it, after eating something not spoiled or a convenient Big Mac and meal he felt good. Even if the cherry pie was too sweet for him.

He wasn't accustomed to such behavior; it was so alien and new and confusing. Like that woman. She obviously didn't have a car, so she walked home in the middle of the night during a blackout. Silly bloody woman. Gaara looked down at his hands and saw his knuckles were split from when he missed the man's head and instead hit the ground. Blood was under his fingernails and Gaara cracked his knuckles.

He grabbed a towel from the rack and peeled his shirt off. His pants and boxers followed and he turned the hot knob of the shower. Clouds of steam rose immediately and Gaara ignored the heat stinging his skin to scrub it raw with a bar of soap. His nails tore into his scalp when he washed his hair in a frenzied way.

He'd saved a life, for the first time instead of taking one and it tore him of balance, off kilter and he didn't know what to make of it all. The woman who had been knocked to the pavement had stared up at him as though she couldn't decide whether he was a devil or angel or just a man. Her white, white eyes staring straight through him and Gaara had at first assumed she'd been blind but her eyes followed him too closely for her to be blind.

Standing in the middle of his bathroom, scrubbed him and hair tousled and wet and naked, he stared into the fogged reflection in the mirror, expecting a different person to be staring back at him but to no avail. It was Gaara Saitou. Gaara Saitou; a natural redheaded, green eyed man with no other faces other than his own and a cold heart. Gaara Saitou who resembled the man he hated with ferocity, but carried his mother's natural colorings.

Gaara Saitou who had earlier saved a suspected pregnant woman's life; Gaara Saitou who was no longer experiencing a splitting migraine.

Wiping a hand across the mirror's surface, he looked at the man staring back with a furrow between his eyes. Why didn't his headache (if the jackhammer constantly going off in his skull could be called that) go away with prescriptions and pills, but went away now? Maybe his brother was right about karma.

The redheaded man thought if he should tell his sister what he'd done, or if she'd try to meddle and get him to quit. Gaara wasn't an idiot, or optimistic and neither was his sister or his brother. They could be called cynical, but they were just more in touch with reality than most other people. Even if he got out of his business, it would be nigh impossible to readapt to a normal society – to try to not sleep with his Harpy under his mattress or eye a police officer suspiciously; to try to not view people as jobs with money.

People like him were not born – they were made and molded. For anyone, no matter whom they were, change was impossible and one could not break their mold just because they didn't like it for whatever reason.

Gaara leaned forward and rested his forehead against the mirror. He breathed in and out, counting his heartbeats like drums in his ears.

Just because he saved one person didn't make him a Good Samaritan.

* * *

Morning came and Gaara still didn't have any coffee. He stared accusingly at the kettle he'd bought with Temari, who had cut their shopping short because a business associate had called her in. The redhead had his headache and he'd stuck his head out the window to catch a good whiff of country air – sweet and unpolluted with sound or toxin. There weren't any twittering birds and that was fine with him because if the little bastards had started to sing at his window he'd probably have just shot them.

What he heard was nothing but leaves and wind, and the murmurs of people greeting one another. He'd have to go get a coffee somewhere, he didn't know where but he didn't have a job to do.

Gaara pulled on a white tank top, a pair of black pants, socks and he tied his boots before tugging a jacket on. He stopped and cocked his head at the window. He liked that breeze and it made the apartment smell nice so he decided to just leave it open.

Stuffing his keys, wallet and phone in the jacket's pockets he opened his door and was hit in the chest.

He blinked in momentary surprise before looking down at the slight woman who looked guiltily at her curled fist. Her white, white eyes met his. Removing her hand as though he'd burned it, she gave a wobbly smile. "Hi neighbor," she said softly.

Gaara nodded hesitantly back.

She shifted and moved back, wringing her hands before turning her gaze to her left, to her right, to her feet and back again. Gaara stared at her.

"I was, um, wondering that is, if you'd like to grab a coffee?" when Gaara didn't respond and kept looking down at her, she added unnecessarily, "My treat because of what you ah did yesterday."

The redhead frowned down at her. "I don't need a thanks."

The woman considered this and stared up at him undaunted. Her white eyes made him nervous – as though she could see right through him. "Okay. You may not need a thanks, but I'd like to give one. A real one." She blushed a little and Gaara thought she felt that last night's offering had been half assed.

"You don't have to."

"I want to," she insisted. "Besides, you're um new here r-right?" Gaara nodded slightly and she beamed, not really. "I know a good coffee shop not too far from here."

Gaara stared down at her and she looked right through him. He gave a slight nod in acceptance to the offer. She didn't grab his hand or hook her arm through his like a bold woman did, but she glanced at him then to the elevator in a suggesting glance. He went first after the awkward moment of 'hi thanks for saving my life neighbor' passed.

In the elevator, Gaara could smell her shampoo – something light and not floral or fruity. Her soap was almond-like, maybe buttery too. She stood close but not too close as though to begin to establish the lines. Gaara felt like pressing the stop button on the elevator and running like hell because this was the first person besides his few friends and siblings that stood close without ulterior motives.

For some hapless reason, he felt helpless in this situation and he hated it.

The elevator dinged and her little slip one shoes made cutesy little clicks when she stepped out first in contrast to the heavy snaps his boots made. The landlady spotted them and sent a lewd grin, "Me oh my you move fast don't you?" the comment was directed at Gaara who stared the old woman down until she moved behind her desk and pretended to be busy with papers.

Hinata coughed lightly and she was pinkish. "Uh, let's get going then." She sighed when they were out into the streets, "She's probably going to spread some rumor around and the whole building will know by ten." She said it with a sigh and gave him an apologetic glance, "I'm really sorry. I guess we should have gone at separate times?"

"That would probably just look worse." He stated bluntly and watched her turn red.

"A-ah yeah, it w-would wouldn't it?" she looked quite mortified.

They turned down a corner and walked another two blocks before Hinata stopped at a little hole in the wall café called _Roasted Bean_. She gave him a small smile, "It doesn't look like much but it's really nice inside."

Gaara didn't respond and they stepped inside, a few people were there, all of them either college students studying or businessmen stopping by for a quick breakfast.

He and Hinata sat down at a tiny table in the corner by the still frosted window. She tugged on her thick wool turtle neck sweater with sheep running around the hems and cuffs of it. She opened her mouth but was interrupted by a waitress. "What can I get you?" she asked Gaara, all smiles and cheer and a pretty face.

"A cup of coffee. Black," he said ignoring her long eyelashes and too close hip.

She smiled, "For here right?"

"Yeah."

She turned to Hinata, "And for you?" her cheery voice was there but she stayed close to him.

"Ah a hot chocolate please," Hinata seemed to have a secretive smile on her face and Gaara concluded grimly that she was having some giggles at his expense. The redhead then added to this conclusion that women were obviously instinctive more so then men because the young woman's gaze turned to the bulge in his neighbor's sweater.

She moved away from Gaara, edging away as if she'd done something wrong. "Coming right up," she said, still cheerful.

Hinata looked at him with a slight smile, "That was cute."

Gaara scowled at her. Hinata looked down at the table's circular designs of orange and brown and blue. A moment of companionable silence passed before she spoke again. "Yesterday…you r-really saved me. I don't think I've ever been-been that scared before. I fought back but he just tossed me like it didn't matter. I-I've never, never felt so frightened before."

Gaara simply looked at the top of her bowed head. He'd seen victims of rape – that hollow self disgust of a horrid desecration of their body. Some killed themselves; others didn't say a word and few became vicious and motivated.

This woman had been lucky he'd been there, or she'd turn out to be another number lost in the masses. Still she was traumatized. "I called the police but I had no idea wh-what he looked like so-so I wasn't much help. They were looking into it and they'll call me when they've got a lineup. But I'm so scared. What if he finds me first?"

Her shoulders started to shudder and he saw water hit the table. Gaara's eyes widened and even though he was rusty in the role, he was still a man. He didn't reach over to pat her shoulder or her hand but he got up and stole napkins from the dispenser before laying a thick pile of them by her hand. She sniffled out a teary thank you and patted her eyes.

Gaara still stared with slightly wide eyes. She looked up at him with slightly red eyes, "I'm going to the restroom. I'll be right back." She got up and pushed her chair in before excusing herself to the bathroom again.

The redhead looked vaguely disturbed but shook it off; instead looking into the glass case and seeing sandwiches, pastries and fresh fruits. He was hungry, his stomach rumbled and he got up, narrowly missing being splashed with hot coffee by the clumsy waitress who had stumbled because another person had pushed out so suddenly without looking behind her. "I'm so sorry!" she wasn't looking at his face, or jacket rather the table. He followed her eyes and looked down at his once white shirt.

The coffee that had spilled on the table had spread to touch his shirt.

"It's fine."

"I'm so, so, sorry please don't give a complaint, please, please, please," she begged.

"It's fine."

"I'll go get you another cup and a towel." She left hurriedly while the girl who had knocked into her apologized as well.

0.11 seconds of reaction time had saved him a burn, but not his shirt. Damn it.

The once teary eyed woman came back and saw his shirt, the coffee and his brooding look. "Are you okay?" her soft, calm voice was back.

"The waitress spilled coffee and some got on my shirt." He scratched at the dark brown stain smudged in the cotton. Hinata stepped closer and looked at the stain.

"I have some Club Soda and lemon juice. It'd probably do the trick." She offered and Gaara tensed.

More interaction with her? All of this time with someone outside of his "circle" was pushing it already, why add to his anxiety?

"Here's your coffee and chocolate, and I am so sorry, I really am." The waitress toweled their table down thoroughly, bowing and then leaving.

Gaara sat down and the woman sat across of him, smelling her drink before giving a tender smile and sipping. Gaara took a gulp from his coffee and noted that it was good, hot and a nice roast. Not bad for a hole in the wall, not bad at all.

Putting the mug down, Gaara observed the woman across of him. A heart shaped face, pale white skin with matching eyes, dark hair that went past her shoulders and thin, wiry delicate looking hands. Short blunt nails tipped her fingers and that odd little smile still adorned her face while she was spooning the whipped cream into her mouth.

"You're welcome," he blurted out.

The woman blinked owlishly in response.

Gaara cursed the fact that he had just been stupidly spontaneous.

Then she smiled, it was large and even showed a little of her neat little teeth. "Thank you again…" her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Haijin. Gaara Haijin." He introduced his cover name.

She was still smiling when she replied, "Hinata Hyuuga."

* * *

I would so appreciate it if I weren't strung up. Seriously. Not long, but I know what's going to happen so look for a next chapter soon, kinda sorta.

I'll update again soon I promise!


	6. Moment of intrigue

**T**he **S**and**C**astle

Alright! Here's your next chapter folks and please, please stop asking me who the father is/where he is or else I'll make it the guy none of you want, like seriously.

_ednama_, damn it you caught me. Well, I don't know a lot about bakeries so I just based it on the bakery my cousin works in – they still do the old-skool style so I pretty much went with that. However the downside of the whole quality versus quantity she told me is that they can only do so many a day. Plus, I thought it just added to the aesthetics, so sorry about that.

Moving on. Enjoy!

Moment of intrigue and mama's boy no more

It was pretty much instinct to wake up at 5 in the morning, take a shower and get ready for work for Hinata. She rarely set her alarm clock anymore because she was so used to it. The shower would take 20 minutes, she'd get dressed, grab an apple or a pear or a banana and eat it before heading out the door to go to the _Roasted Bean_ for a good cup of hot chocolate.

Hinata remembered it was a Monday when she woke up that day. She rubbed her stomach, fingers curling over the large bump. She lay there for a few minutes, staring up at her dark ceiling and rubbing her stomach. Rolling to her feet, she stretched as much as she could, feeling her vertebrae pop.

She shuffled to her bathroom with tousled hair that stuck out every which way and grabbed a towel that hung limply before heating the water. She sat on the toilet lid, blinking away the sleep crust from her eyes while a warm cloud of steam rose up in her bathroom. She stripped delicately and stepped in, sliding the shower curtain over to keep most of the steam in.

She didn't like fruity shampoos or conditioners because they eventually made her sick and ended up costing more. Almonds, tea tree and such were alright because they didn't mess with her sinuses which had for some reason doubled in sensitivity during her pregnancy. Her body wash only gave off a natural clean smell and she liked it that way.

After her shower, she stumbled to her bedroom for her underwear and paused at what she should wear. She decided on black overalls and thick thigh highs sent from Sakura on her last birthday. Little ghosts ran rampant yelling boo and waving white arms over the black polyester. She pulled out her plain blue shoes and slipped into them. To keep warm, she threw a knee length beige jacket on.

She sighed at the warmth and shouldered her purse. Without looking back, she closed the door and locked it behind her, pausing at the sound of another door closing. The redhead she'd had coffee with a few days ago was stepping out with a duffel bag over his shoulder. His long black coat fell past his knees. He stopped and noticed her.

Hinata stared him, looking at the lines around his mouth and his tired eyes. His hair was messy and his shirt was creased like he'd slept in it. She could see the harsh arches of his ribs through the open gap in his coat and his tight shirt. She couldn't help but want to take care of him. He reminded her of her father, her cousin and sister all at once yet someone completely different; but nonetheless someone who needed – not wanted - care.

They stared at each other, examining the other in an observant non-creepy way. Gaara cocked his head slightly at her.

Then after the moment of observation was over, she gave him a nod and a small smile, "Good morning."

Gaara nodded back and took the stairs, his boots making heavy snaps even across the carpeted floor. Hinata watched him go and stepped to the elevator. She was going to have to go to the grocery store on her way home. Pick up the necessities and the like.

Resting her head against the elevator's wall, she sighed and closed her eyes. She was so tired lately.

* * *

His cell phone vibrated and wouldn't stop. Temari was calling him and had been since yesterday to talk. He knew she was worried and checking up on him since the little girl incident but he didn't want to talk about it. What was done was done.

He looked down at the photograph on a man in his mid forties, frowning and looking at one of his bodyguards with a young woman hanging onto his arm. Known as Nice Guy Nakamura for his policies and pressed issues of gun control and rehab, and regarding young kids, was Toshiro Nakamura – also a leader for several prostitution rings, Orochimaru wanted him out of the way since Nakamura had dirt on one of his best clients who was currently scared shitless it would get out in public. Nakamura had him in a vice grip – extorting money and drugs from him.

Gaara didn't ask what Nakamura had on him even though Orochimaru hinted that he could give him details.

Gaara made a turn at a gas station. Paying the man, he went outside to pump his own gas and thought about it. Orochimaru said he was at a resort and Gaara was going to have to do a stakeout, but Nakamura would have to be out before nightfall or his wife would get suspicious.

Getting back in his car, he turned off to the quiet highway again, behind what looked like a toy car.

He wasn't in any rush so he didn't both with passing him up.

Pressing matters were pushed aside so he wouldn't get too psyched and he instead focused on his across-the-hall neighbor. She was weighing little ghosts when it wasn't even October anymore. When they'd had coffee at the _Roasted Bean_, he'd been curious. He never saw her with a man or a woman if she was like that, and while he was past the designation of 'socially awkward' he wasn't inept. She had no partner which meant that she would be the singular leading role in the kid's life.

His leading figure had been his mother, for nine years of his adolescent life. His sister and brother had each other, their private school buddies and outside contact. Gaara had spent the first twelve years locked up in his enormous house, with private tutors and no friends. His siblings had at first resented him – that he got the best toys, video games and all that special attention. They resented him for being held in a higher regard than they.

What he hadn't known until he was twelve years of age was that his father had been grooming him like a certain breed of horse. To become a willing attack dog for his father that would remain unflinchingly loyal.

This information was gathered after his mother had left them – just up and vanished into thin air never to return.

Gaara, age twelve, had loaded a nine millimeter and told his father blankly that he was going to kill him at the breakfast table. He'd dropped the pistol only at Temari's plead – she looked like mom with her hair down and her usually hard face soft with fear and worry.

His father sent him away, to a private school in Britain – far, far away from him. Gaara came back at age seventeen to discover that his father had also vanished but left an incredible amount of debts behind him, that Temari was juggling college and a job and so was Kankurou. Gaara chose to not go to college when an old friend of his father's called.

Orochimaru gave him an offer he couldn't turn away. Gaara, seeing Temari get sick from overworking herself so much, Kankurou cry when he thought no one was looking and the amounting debt piling up from his father's exploits and their loans, took Orochimaru up on his offer. He had showed up at Orochimaru's main office in a nice suit when Orochimaru handed him a Glock. He told Gaara to kill a man, a private investigator who knew too much.

Gaara shot him twice in the abdomen, once in the chest and watched him bleed.

He had realized something, while watching that man bleed and cry and whimper at his feet, that despite his adamant denial he had become what his father had bred and groomed him for. At that moment, a part of Gaara Saitou died that day – the only part of him that his mother had loved.

Gaara had collected the money; 40,000,000 yen and Orochimaru had handed him a cell phone. It would be his business cell phone and Orochimaru had already listed himself on the contact list. Gaara Saitou left for home, slid the check to Temari who stared at him and silently begged him to look at her while Kankurou only looked at the name of the person on the check. Gaara avoided their eyes and went to bed, where he couldn't sleep.

After that adventure, and several others, he'd tried tracking his mother. Karura Haijin had come from a Swiss mother and a Japanese father and though her name suggested Japanese, she didn't look the part. Sandy blonde hair and eyes so grey they looked purple in the right lighting, she was beautiful.

Gaara, who looked like his father so much (what irony), had the red haired gene and green eyes different from his siblings and father. It took months to find her but he did, she was in Belfast – in Ireland.

He went there and found her address. He stood on the street unsure if he should knock and say it was the son she'd long since abandoned or what. Situations like this were shockingly uncommon.

He went to the driveway of the home, and watched when a child, maybe of six or seven years wearing a backpack ran out of the house, with a man holding a briefcase and clad in a business suit walked out behind the girl, laughing. He saw his mother leaning against the doorway with a smile on her still pretty face, watching them. The little girl turned and ran back to her, pecking her on the cheek and waving, saying bye mommy.

_Bye mommy? _

Gaara had been told by his mother that when you grow up, your heart dies. He'd always thought it was impossible for that to happen but when that cute little girl in her pink sneakers and pink overalls said bye mommy, he believed it. Some part of him that remembered the lullabies, the reassuring smiles, the gentle pats to the head and all that love she said she had for him crumpled.

The man and girl left, not noticing him and sped away in their blue car.

Gaara had forgotten to move and turn and walk away. The woman – his mother turned and had seen him. He watched when all the color in her face drained and she took a step back. Nothing clogged his throat, but something past his heart clenched and it hurt. Gaara watched her watch him and turned to go, but she called him back, asking him to come inside.

He did.

When he sat across of her holding a mug of black tea with milk and sugar, he saw family portraits in the living area, the little girl smiling with his mother's face and eyes and hair, and that man with an arm around her. They were everywhere. He looked to his left and there were cute lacy doilies and hand knitted coasters and a thick book labeled in gold lettering called The Family Album.

He put his mug on a coaster when he felt that his grip was getting too tight.

His mother had shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He stared at her and it hurt more. "I'm sorry I left," was the first thing she blurted out. Gaara stayed silent. "I just couldn't take it another day. He was suffocating me and I couldn't go out, I didn't want that life anymore."

Gaara chose to speak then, "He left us too." Karura looked shocked, but not as much as she could've been.

"When?"

"A while back. I was still in London for school." He took a gulp of his now lukewarm tea.

"Why were you in London?" she asked, curious that he would let his son go so far from him.

"I threatened to kill him when I found out he was the reason you left us."

"Oh," she responded, staring into her tea. "How are Temari and Kankurou?"

"Fine."

She bit her lip, "Financially, how are all of you?"

Gaara looked her straight in the eyes, "For a while Temari and Kankurou were supporting us until the loans and debts got to be too much."

She knit her brows, "Did he send money?"

"No. I got a job."

Karura's face took on a pallid expression, "A job?"

Gaara nodded once, firmly.

"What sort of job?" she pressed, thin fingers curling tighter around her cup.

"The sort where Kankurou and Temari don't have to work now."

Karura curled up, and her hand reached out to Gaara's hand, squeezing it. "I'm so sorry, I-I had no idea, I would've sent money or, or"-

Gaara stared at her hand and felt its warmth. It felt nice, comforting. He looked past her to the picture of the little girl smiling. Why the _fuck_ had he come in after he'd seen the kid? She had a new family; all happy smiles and gentleness.

He shook her hand off and stood. She'd looked up at him, "Gaara?"

The redhead stared down at her; this woman he called mother. He said something he'd always wondered about after she had left, "Do you…still have any pictures of us?"

Karura looked mildly surprised, but nodded, "Yes, a few of you."

Gaara nodded absently, she had pictures of him when he was young and good and loving. She had no pictures of him now; when he became what he said he wouldn't, now when he was cold and distant and hated himself more than he could ever imagine. If she still loved him, she loved the Gaara that was forgotten when she left and died when he decided to keep the scattered remainder of his family afloat. She didn't love _him_.

He looked down at her and at her soft expression, then to the photo of her little girl and new husband. "Burn them."

Karura blinked, "What?"

"The pictures – burn them." He repeated.

"_Why?_" he heard tears in her voice and saw them in her eyes. Reaching behind her, he held up a picture of her daughter.

"You've got a new family." He said, looking at her.

Karura put her cup down, shaking her head and stood, before wrapping her arms around him. Gaara stiffened. "That's no reason for me to cut off from you," she reached up and palmed his cheek, rubbing at the dark skin beneath his eye. "You're still my little Gaara."

Gaara set the picture down and pushed her away from him as gently as he could, holding her upper arms lightly. "No, I'm not."

Karura's tears fell and she started to cry, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, just – why don't you meet my family? They'd love you and your little sister would too! But"-

Gaara let her arms go and backed away from her several feet. "Gaara?" the heartbreak in her voice was tangible. "_Gaara_?" she reached out to him and took a step forward but he only stepped back.

Gaara reached into his pocket and placed a very creased letter on the table. It was his mother's good bye letter to him. He'd always kept it and the consistently folded lines on it and the worn paper said as much. Turning away from her, he opened the door and looked over his shoulder at the crying woman still reaching for him and apologizing, "Take care." He said it almost tenderly and had closed the door softly on her cries.

He never spoke a word of this to his siblings and probably never would.

Gaara stepped out of his memory vault and made a left turn near the resort where Nakamura was staying. The neighboring hotel of the resort had been notified by Orochimaru (who had helped to fund the building's costs) and the staff was restricted from going to the rooftop.

Gaara parked in the garage and shouldered his duffel bag before heading up to the rooftop. Going up by elevator, he looked at his watch and saw that it was approaching nighttime. For some inexplicable and seemingly random reason, he wondered if Hinata was taking the bus or walking home again.

* * *

Hinata sighed and boarded the bus. She had to go shopping and today had been rough – sweet bread and wine had sold out today. She was tired, her arms hurt and she felt quite simply fat. Tsunade had scolded her and ordered her to get more rest or else.

She saw the small store and stood, "Stop please!" she called and the driver pulled over, nodding to her when she scurried out and into the grocery store.

She got in and huddled into her coat, feeling the cold nip at her bones.

Grabbing a basket, she picked up flour, fish, eggs, avocadoes, tomatoes, chocolate syrup and butter. Smiling at the exhausted looking cashier, she paid and walked out, waiting for another bus. She sat down next to a woman around her age with long black hair and a pretty face.

Hinata nodded to her and she nodded back with a polite smile.

Silence ensued but was broken when the young woman shivered, "Cold out tonight isn't it?" she said with her teeth chattering a little.

Hinata nodded, "It's getting nippier."

The young woman with a nice figure and a music note tattoo on the inside of her right wrist bowed, "I'm Kin."

Hinata smiled weakly. She seemed so nice but she wasn't born in the Hyuuga family for nothing. Something in her churned and she shifted the heavy grocery bags, bowing as well. "I'm Hinata."

Hinata blinked abruptly when she swore Kin's smile turned nasty but Kin kept smiling and Hinata was sure she must've imagined it. "There's your bus," she said pointing down the street. Hinata turned and eyed Kin.

"Isn't it your bus too?" she questioned, her heart beating heavily.

Kin smiled and shook her head, "Nope." The bus creaked to a stop and Hinata boarded. Kin gave a little wave, "Bye Hinata it was nice talking to you!"

Hinata sat down and waved, and watched Kin until the bus turned out of the other girl's sight.

-

longer chapter b/c I've been bad. :(

hope it's okay and have a nice day!


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